


You’re a good man, Charlie Parish

by TroubleIWant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Multi, Parrish POV, just for fun, or maybe crack?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroubleIWant/pseuds/TroubleIWant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deputy Parish just wants to have one normal day. Unfortunately, Beacon Hills isn’t good at “normal.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re a good man, Charlie Parish

**Author's Note:**

> Just a goofy outside-perspective fic before S4 hits!
> 
> Beta'd generously by [walkingfelony](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkingfelony) \-- any remaining errors are all mine!
> 
> Comments and Kudos much appreciated, or you can find me on Tumblr [here](http://troubleiwant.tumblr.com/)

**

 

It’s an average day in the life of Deputy Charles Parish, at least it looks to be shaping up that way when he wakes up. His alarm goes off at seven in the morning, in time for his favorite radio program; he makes himself a protein shake and some oatmeal with bananas for breakfast; the sun is shining, birds are chirping, and it’s been about a week since the last mysterious animal attack left someone dead.

For Beacon Hills, that’s pretty good.

** 

 

He comes into the office, and things are normal there too. He says “hi” to Cheryl in reception and stops by the coffee machine on the way to his desk; it’s a weekend, so he’s the only one there except for Stilinski.

The Sheriff wanders by an hour later. “Got a moment, Charlie?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Look, can you get me the files for the Tate accident? There’s a couple things I need to check now – might be a connection with Peter there.”

Peter Hale? That’s new. “Of course, sir. Should be right here.” Parish digs into a cabinet – Taeko, Taggert, Taran, here we go, Tate.

“You’re a good man, Deputy,” the Sheriff sighs. “Listen, I know we have a high turnover rate due to death in the line of duty, but I really hope you stick around.”

“Me too, sir,” Parish says. He hands the file over.

“I worry about you,” the Sheriff says. “With all the stuff that goes down around here, I worry about everyone: Stiles, Scott, hell, I even worry about Derek.” He trails off with a pensive look. “Sometimes I worry about Stiles _and_ Derek. Different kind of worry there. Hey, Parish, do you think that Stiles is you know,” the Sheriff pauses to make a surprisingly Stiles-like gesture, “into guys? That way?”

Parish knows he should step away from this line of conversation but…“I think he’s into everything. But he pings my gaydar, hetero-dar, bi-dar if that’s a thing. I’m really sorry, I don’t mean to imply I think about this a lot, but I would be shocked if that kid is a virgin. Sorry. But really--shocked.”

Stilinski looks taken aback and a little green. “No, no, I’m sorry. I started it. I…didn’t mean to be that honest,” Stilinski says, his surprised expression going slowly to very, very suspicious. “And I don’t think you did either. Hold on, I need to make a phone call.” He marches purposefully toward his office, pulling out his cell phone and dialing fast enough that Parrish can hear the start of the conversation.

“Scott, anything in your wheelhouse that would compel a person to be overly truthful? Wait, a _what_? The whole town? Son, why do you never tell me these things until…” The conversation cuts off as the Sheriff closes the door to his office.

Parish sits back at his desk, very glad to be alone again. He’s from the Midwest – you simply do not talk about personal issues like how much ass a teenager is or isn’t getting with which gender, much less with your boss. It’s not right; you’re supposed to discuss cases and the weather, not other people’s relationships.

He has to admit, his normal day is off to a kind of abnormal start.

**

 

He settles in with some paperwork left over from Agent McCall’s recently completed inquest, but Mr. Yukimura comes by before he can finish up, a sheepish expression on his face.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Parish asks.

“Just taking care of this parking ticket,” the teacher sighs, waving a form. “I swear it’s not like me to leave the car in a no parking zone. It’s been a very hard week.”

“I understand. Your daughter was friends with the Argent girl, right?” 

Mr. Yukimura nods sadly. “I can’t imagine what her father is going through. Kira barely knew her. She was only starting to bond with the group. I worry that this will really set her back.”

“She’ll be okay,” Parish says, pulling up the ticket in the system. “They’re more resilient than you think.”

“You could say that again,” the other man replies. “Honestly, I’m not sure where I fit into all this, either. Everything that happened is bringing a lot of history up with my wife,” he continues. “I always knew that she had a life before me. I know she had other relationships-- _lots_ of other relationships. And it’s not like I don’t understand that I’m just a teacher and she’s a kitsune…” 

“Uh…okay,” Parish says. How exactly does Mrs. Yukimura’s love life fit into all this? “That’ll be two hundred fifty dollars.”

Yukimura pulls out his checkbook and fills it out absentmindedly. “It’s just that when she starts talking about Rhys it’s this amazing, tragic love story. I can’t compete with that. The most romantic thing we do is Thursday date night at Paxi’s, and he practically died for her! I can’t stop thinking that this must be a real boring, consolation-prize life to her.”

“I think,” says Parish carefully, “That the most dramatic relationships aren’t necessarily the strongest. How do you know Thursday date night isn’t exactly what she needs? Maybe she appreciates that you’re always there for her.”

“Well, she…she always says that I make her very happy,” Mr. Yukimura replies, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Then maybe you need to stop trying to hold your marriage to somebody else’s idea of what romance is.”

“That’s very true. Thank you, Deputy Parish,” he says, seeming genuinely touched. “I--did I just tell you my wife is a kitsune?”

“Yeah,” Parish says slowly. “Is that sort of like a geisha?”

“Not even a little bit,” Yukimura says. “I’ll uh…see you around. Thank you again for listening.” Suddenly he seems much more nervous.

“Any time,” Parish says, secretly hoping that the next time is a long way out.

**

 

The Deputy is very relieved when he makes it to lunch without any more awkward confessions. Unfortunately, the lucky streak doesn’t last: he meets Derek Hale outside of the In-N-Out. The man is lurking in the shadows, so Parish doesn’t even see him until it’s too late.

“I need you to go in there and tell me if Stiles is inside,” Derek growls.

Parish opens his mouth, shuts it, and then says, “Why?”

“Because I’m _starving_ and I want lunch,” Derek snarls like his hunger is something Parish has caused specifically to annoy him. “But I can’t risk seeing Stiles right now, because I’ll end up telling him that the way he stuffs food in his mouth makes me want to _jerk off_.”

“TMI,” Parish says weakly.

“Exactly!” Derek says. “It’s totally inappropriate, which I _know_. Trust me when I say it hasn’t escaped my attention that he’s seventeen. Look, usually I can just try to ignore it when he starts fellating his straw, but today? I’d tell him exactly what I’d like to do with that pretty mouth.” Derek stops to huff angrily.

“Everyone already knows, anyway,” Parish blurts out.

“What,” Derek says flatly. Somehow he makes even that sound like a threat. No wonder he’s always getting arrested.

“The Sheriff asked me about it today, and parents are always the last to figure that stuff out. If he’s put it together, all Stiles’ friends know.”

“Ugh,” Derek groans, and stalks off to a black Camaro parked away from the other cars. He slams the door. Parish finally gets to go inside.

**

 

And then, as if that wasn’t enough to ruin his break, Parish bumps into Kira the second he’s got his order. Why is this town so full of hot, hormonal teens? It’s not normal.

“Oh, hi, Deputy Parish,” she says, scanning the room with barely concealed panic on her face. She’s hunched so far into the booth that he hadn’t even noticed her until he sat down. He hesitates for a moment, plate hovering over the table, but it’s too late to leave.

“Are you…hiding from someone?” he asks, because it seems like the right question. He’s not actually sure he wants to get involved.

“Yeah,” Kira says miserably. “Scott.”

“I thought you two got along.” Parish was pretty sure they were dating, in fact – he knows way too much about the local high school students’ love lives. They always seem to be caught up in the cases that come across his desk.

“Exactly!” Kira exclaims. “We totally get along, or I think we do. And one time we kissed? But then there was like all the nogitsune stuff going on.” She lets her head tip forward on to her folded arms resting on the table. “And now Allison’s dead and he’s so sad and we’re not talking much. I think he really, really loved her.”

“Hmm.” Parish wonders if a nogitsune is at all like a kitsune, and if he’s racist for only knowing three Japanese words.

“I don’t want him to tell me that he loves her more. Not today,” Kira whispers. “I’m pretty sure it’s true, but I don’t want to know.”

Parish sets his shoulders. “Chin up, Kira,” he says in his best pep-talk voice. “I’m sure that Scott cares about Allison very much, and of course he’s heartbroken right now. But that doesn’t mean he cares about you less. It’s not a competition. Do you love your dad less because you love your mom?”

Kira looks unimpressed. “I don’t really want to think about being Scott’s dad and Allison being his mom. Also, he kind of hates his dad.”

“I’m just saying,” Parish sighs, “that you should trust Scott’s feelings for you. You’re just as lovable and special as Allison was.”

“You think I’m as cool as her?” Kira asks in a small voice. “She was like, super bad-ass.”

“I think that there’s room for more than one girl to be awesome in the world without reality collapsing,” Parish says. “Just do your best to live up to your own strengths and you’ll be fine.”

“You know, you’re right,” Kira says, finally sitting up straight. “I’m going to call Scott right now and tell him exactly how I feel. I know he loved Allison, but if he loves me too, we can be together. I mean, it worked for Allison and Isaac.” She nods seriously, and then turns to Parish again, all earnest puppy-eyes. “Thank you. You’re a really great guy.” Then she’s off, phone in hand.

“You’re welcome,” the Deputy calls as he tries to get back into the mood to enjoy his lunch.

**

 

In the grocery store that afternoon, following up on a report of shoplifting, Parish isn’t even surprised when he bumps into Stiles. The only question now is what uncomfortably personal information is going to somehow end up in his lap.

“Have you seen Derek?” Stiles demands. “I really need to not bump into him right now.”

“Mr. Hale? Not…recently,” Parish says. “Please don’t tell me why you need to actively avoid a man who’s been arrested twice in conjunction with murder _that I know of_.” 

“Scott told me what’s going on, and if I see Derek before it’s fixed I’m going to tell him everything,” Stiles says, ignoring Parish’s plea. “Ev-ery-thing,” he repeats slowly, wiggling his eyebrows in a pretty suggestive way. “Which would be the worst and most embarrassing thing ever to happen to me in my short and kind of pathetic life. So like, help a guy out. Can you, I dunno, arrest him again? Just for the day?” 

Why is everyone in Beacon Hills so strange? Is it in the water? Is that why there are so many animal attacks and killing sprees in the area?

“I am not going to arrest your creepy crush so you can avoid talking about feelings,” Parish grits out. “That would be an abuse of power and I take my job very seriously.”

“I take my _life_ very seriously,” Stiles whines. “And Derek might actually kill me if we get all truthy with each other! Literal, actual death!”

“I think if you ‘get all truthy with each other’ for a hot second you’re going to end up in bed,” Parish says, and then adds quickly, “Don’t tell your father I said that.”

“Wait, really?” Stiles asks. “Oh my god. Did you talk to Derek about me? Today?” Parish has seen children on Christmas morning who look less excited that Stiles does right now. 

“Around noon at the In-N-Out,” Parish admits, unwillingly. “We talked about masturbating. It was incredibly uncomfortable.”

“Oh man, I’m actually gonna get laid. I owe you one, man,” Stiles tosses over his shoulder as he dashes off.

“Don’t tell your father I said that,” Parish shouts after him.

**

 

After work, Parish heads straight for the nature preserve. He hikes out to the area past where people jog or camp, where he can be sure he’ll be alone. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone possibly ever again. Yet somehow, it doesn’t work out like that even here.

“You’re the vet,” he says to the older man who’s harvesting some purple foliage into a weirdly ornate metal box. Deacon? No, Deaton.

“Among other things,” Deaton says, enigmatically. 

“That’s not even legal,” the Deputy says, holding his hand out helplessly toward the plucked herbs. “Those are endangered.”

“Yes, they feed off the Nemeton’s power. They’ll grow slowly now that it has been destroyed.”

Parish might not know enough Japanese to say what a kitsune or a nogitsune is, but he knows English and he is ninety percent certain ‘Nemeton’ is a made up word.

“It’s been a strange day, hasn’t it,” Deaton says with a knowing look, smiling like he has a secret. “I promise that everything will go back to normal shortly. 

“I’m not sure what even qualifies as normal around here,” Parish admits peevishly.

“You’re a good man, Parish,” Deaton says. “I think you’ll learn more about how this town works very soon. We could use your help.”

The Deputy personally feels like he’s done enough helping today. He leaves Deaton to deface the forest and breaths a sigh of relief when he gets back to his apartment and locks the door behind him without any other bizarre encounters.

Maybe tomorrow can be his normal day.

 

 


End file.
